


but weren't we indestructible

by KelseyO



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, burn trigger warning i guess?, clarke gets hurt and lexa has to help, commander princess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:38:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3310823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Pack what supplies you’ll need, and meet me at the edge of the trees.” She pockets another dagger and heads for the tent’s opening, but then she pauses and spares Clarke a half-glance over her shoulder. “I don’t want to be forced to leave without you, Clarke. Even I know that would be foolish.”</p>
<p>Clarke and Lexa go hunting post-2x10. Danger and injury ensue, but first they talk about yoga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but weren't we indestructible

**Author's Note:**

> These two are so much fun to write, holy cow. Title from "Now" by Paramore. Shout-out to Kate and JT for their invaluable assistance.

This is definitely, absolutely a terrible idea.

“We barely made it back alive the last time,” Clarke argues, “We should take a few more days; figure out a better defense against that gorilla in case it’s broken free again. A-and your arm is still—”

“My arm is fine,” Lexa interrupts as she sheaths her sword and begins strapping on her armor, “and we’ve already wasted enough time as it is. Our people need food.”

Clarke shakes her head even has her chest tightens at the idea of _our people_ , rather than _my people_ or _your people_. “But—”

“Pack what supplies you’ll need, and meet me at the edge of the trees.” She pockets another dagger and heads for the tent’s opening, but then she pauses and spares Clarke a half-glance over her shoulder. “I don’t want to be forced to leave without you, Clarke. Even I know that would be foolish.”

She disappears through the flaps, and Clarke eventually follows, but only after a stop at the medical tent to grab some pain meds, just in case.

.

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen anything by now,” Clarke murmurs after several hours of fruitless hunting punctuated only by water breaks, tiny animals that make a lot more noise than they should, and Clarke’s occasional check-ins on Lexa’s arm.

(She’s not sure which of those Lexa finds the most irritating.)

“You must be patient,” Lexa replies without breaking stride, as if they’ve only been at this for a few minutes. “Frustrations and curiosities will only distract.”

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Should we stop for a second and do some yoga?”

“That word is unfamiliar to me.”

“What, yoga?”

Lexa looks at her now. “Yes. Explain.”

Clarke opens her mouth and closes it again as she debates whether to actually have this conversation. “It’s...”—she chews her bottom lip—“It’s a Sky People ritual that we use to lower blood pressure and... heal our minds, I guess.”

“That sounds useful. Demonstrate it and perhaps I can teach my warriors.”

“I—can’t. Not here. It requires specific attire. And a ceremonial mat.” Clarke glances at Lexa and nods once. “Another time though, maybe.”

Lexa seems satisfied with her answer. “It’s nearly sundown,” she announces, pausing at the top of a small hill and planting the dull end of her spear into the ground. “If you want to return to camp before nightfall, we should turn back now.”

Clarke tips her head back to look at the sky for a long moment. “No,” she says finally, “you’re right—we need food. We can’t come back empty-handed.”

“I agree.” Lexa picks up her spear again and uses it to point to the expanse of forest beyond their hill. “There should be a small clearing up ahead—we’ll rest there.”

They begin their descent and Clarke clears her throat. “So, um… how’s your…?”

“I’m fully recovered from my injury,” Lexa interrupts once more. “If you ask me again, I will slit your throat.”

The corner of Clarke’s mouth twitches. “Fair enough.”

.

They’ve built a small fire. Lexa leans against a tree, sharpening her weapons, while Clarke lets her as eyes close on her spot on the grass. She’s gotten the hang of this whole using-her-jacket-as-a-pillow thing, and as she listens to the crackling of the flames, she finds she’s actually pretty comfortable; at the very least, it’s more preferable than her solitary confinement cell on the Ark.

She thinks she hears a twig snap but takes a deep breath and dismisses it as another squirrel.

“Clarke.”

“Yeah?” she says without opening her eyes.

Lexa’s words are tense. “Clarke, get your gun.”

Her eyes snap open and she’s on her feet in an instant, shoulder-to-shoulder with Lexa as they aim their weapons at the distinct rustling coming from the trees several yards ahead.

“What do you think it is?” Clarke whispers.

“I’m not sure,” Lexa says quietly, tightening her grip on her spear. “If we’re fortunate, it won’t be our friend from—”

Something bursts into the clearing and Lexa lunges forward, only to have her spear ripped away by the jaws of an unnaturally large tiger that looks about as friendly as the gorilla from the abandoned zoo; Clarke fires a few shots to get it away from Lexa, but then it spits Lexa’s weapon back out and launches itself at Clarke.

First there’s a massive pressure against her chest, and then she’s falling. A wave of excruciating heat engulfs her back, and she realizes as she cries out in pain that the tiger has her pinned on top of their campfire. Just as she’s hit with the stench of burning cloth, Lexa’s spear slices into the tiger’s throat and Lexa uses her entire body to knock it off of Clarke, and Clarke is barely aware of Lexa straddling and killing the animal as she rolls onto her stomach and scrambles to pull her charred shirt away from the screaming flesh beneath it.

Her hands are trembling and her breathing is ragged and she’s clenching her jaw so hard her teeth might split in half, and if she could _just_ get this damn shirt away from the agony between her shoulder blades—

Strong fingers grip her own to still their movements. “Let me,” Lexa instructs, her voice commanding but also maybe as gentle as Clarke’s ever heard it, and she feels Lexa move her own palms to rest against the ground (she balls them into fists) then hears the faint _swipe_ of a dagger being pulled out. There’s a light tug at her back as Lexa cuts open her shirt, and Clarke lets out a sharp grunt at the pricks of pain from the cloth leaving her skin.

“How bad is it?” she manages, grimacing at the breeze that suddenly swirls through the clearing.

Lexa doesn’t answer.

“What does it look like? I need to you—” There’s another surge of pain and her breath catches in her throat. “I need you to tell me what it looks like.”

“Red,” Lexa says finally, and Clarke squeezes her eyes shut so she can focus on every word. “With blisters.”

Clarke blinks a few times now and takes a deep breath in and out. “What size are the blisters? How many are there?”

“Small and few.”

“Okay,” she pants, “so it’s probably second-degree. Is there anything stuck in the burns? Splinters, dirt, anything that could cause infection?”

There’s a heavy beat of silence. “Yes.”

Clarke wets her lips as best she can without eating any soil in the process. “I need you to clean them out. Whatever you can.”

“It would be wiser to wait for proper medical care,” Lexa replies. “I’m no doctor, Clarke. We’re better off getting you back to camp as soon as possible.”

She shakes her head slowly, pressing her cheek into the ground as if she could disappear into the cool soil. “Lexa, please,” she begs, her voice cracking on the second word. “If we do nothing it’ll only get worse.”

It’s kind of terrifying, feeling so powerless as Lexa hovers behind her, not knowing when the first batch of pain will happen, or if it will happen at all—

But then she realizes Lexa is a few yards away rummaging through Clarke’s bag. Before she can ask what she’s doing, Lexa pulls out the small bottle of pain meds and Clarke’s canteen and brings them both to where Clarke is still clutching at the dirt below her.

“I brought those for your arm,” Clarke mutters through gritted teeth, because she’s shaking again and _god_ , her back hurts.

“I assumed you would.” Lexa kneels beside her and sets both the bottle and canteen on the ground. “But you need them far more than I do.”

Clarke shakes her head again. “No, I’m—I’m fine,” she insists, even though she’s not convincing either of them.

“While I usually admire your stubbornness, Clarke, now is not the time for it.”

“Lexa…”

“Sit up,” Lexa commands firmly, “or I will force you to.”

Clarke takes a few deep breaths and positions her arms like she’s about to do a push-up, but as she flexes her shoulder blades, a flare of pain heats up her skin and she digs her fingertips into the dirt, trying to ignore the fact that her hands are shaking again.

There’s a gentle pressure on her shoulder now and she flinches away for fear of Lexa yanking her up, but then there’s another hand at her elbow and a far-from-menacing voice in her ear.

“It’s okay, Clarke.”

Clarke swallows hard. “On three.”

Lexa nods.

“One”—she focuses on the hands holding her steady—“two”—one last gulp of oxygen—“three.”

She pushes and Lexa pulls. They both ignore the yelp of pain that escapes Clarke’s throat before she clamps her jaw shut, and then she’s finally kneeling upright and her back is white-hot misery and she thinks she might be swaying on her knees a bit and she’s kind of relieved Lexa hasn’t let go yet.

“Pour some water over it,” she breathes. “Whatever doesn’t get washed away, you’re gonna have to pick out yourself.”

“Not until you take those,” Lexa says, nodding to the meds.

Clarke still finds it in herself to roll her eyes, but knocks back the pills anyway with the tiniest sip of water she can manage. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then holds out the canteen again for Lexa to take back. “I’m ready.”

Lexa doesn’t move. “This will hurt.”

“I know.”

There’s another excruciating beat of silence and Clarke thinks she’s prepared for the wave of brutal stinging that washes over her upper back, but every muscle in her body goes rigid and she struggles to keep herself from doubling over.

“Clarke?”

“I’m okay,” she manages even as she tries to blink away the hot tears springing to her eyes. “Keep going.” Lexa says nothing and a second wave of pain engulfs her back, and she hates that she’s trembling again but at this point she doesn’t think she can convince herself to stop.

She’s still catching her breath when Lexa holds out the canteen again. “Drink the rest.”

Clarke doesn’t bother arguing, just takes the canteen and finishes it off with several long gulps, then tosses it aside and nods to Lexa. “Keep going,” she repeats.

Lexa positions herself behind Clarke and grips one of her shoulders to hold her steady. “Stay still,” she murmurs, and then Clarke feels the first pinprick of pain; then the second, then the fifth, until she’s lost count of how many splinters and shreds of cloth Lexa’s removed from her burns, until she can’t tell where one flare of heat ends and the next begins.

“Tell me about her,” Clarke mumbles after a while, when she’s sick of listening to her own ragged breathing. “Tell me about Costia.”

There’s a tight sigh. “I would prefer not to.”

Clarke grimaces at a particularly harsh burst of pain. “Why?”

“It’s personal.”

“Lexa,” she pants, “a few minutes ago you cut my shirt open and now you’re pulling shreds of it out of my skin. I’d say we’re pretty personal right now.”

Lexa doesn’t speak right away. “She was the fiercest person I’ve ever known,” she says quietly. “In her intelligence, her strength, her loyalty… her beauty.”

Clarke wets her lips. “She sounds incredible.”

“I was on a scouting trip when they took her,” Lexa continues as if Clarke didn’t say anything. “When I returned and discovered what had happened…” There’s a long pause. “I imagine it’s much like what you’re feeling right now, actually. Unexpected, unimaginable pain. The fear that you might never fully recover.”

“Gee, thanks,” Clarke mutters, but then she wraps her arms tightly around herself. “And I’m sorry, about what happened. Neither of you deserved that.”

“Sorrow is worthless, Clarke.” Lexa’s hold on her shoulder tightens just a fraction. “But thank you.”

Clarke nods slowly. “Don’t mention it,” she breathes.

Now Lexa’s hand disappears. “I think I’ve done all I can.”

Clarke hears her stand up, but she’s swaying on her knees again and she ends up pitching forward until her palms are pressed into the dirt.

“Clarke?” Lexa is in front of her now.

“M’fine,” she barely gets off her tongue, because her teeth are chattering and she’s a little dizzy and that’s making it hard to form words anymore, and why are her elbows so unsteady? “’cept, I think I have hypothermia.”

“What does that mean?” Lexa all but demands.

Clarke closes her eyes so her world might stop spinning. “The burns,” she forces out, “are messing with my body temperature. It’s getting too low.” She shudders and clutches at the soil below her fingertips. “Dizziness, shivering, increased heart rate,” she lists off, and then she’s out of breath again and really hoping she doesn’t throw up.

“The Cold,” Lexa says, her voice not nearly as calm as it’s been. “That’s what we call it. It’s taken many warriors from me.”

Clarke wheezes out some semblance of a laugh in spite of everything, and glances up to find Lexa’s jaw clenched.

“This amuses you?”

“No, I swear it’s not”—god, it’s hard to talk when you can’t stop shaking—“The Sky People… have our own v-version of the C-cold. But it’s j-just… runny noses and sneezing… _God_ ,” she gasps through clenched teeth as she catches herself trying to curl into a ball, because all of the shivering and dizziness somehow made her forget about the burns on her back, and now she’s stuck in this awful hunched-over position—

Warm palms are on her cheeks now, tilting her chin up until she’s looking Lexa in the eye.

“Stay with me, Clarke. Fight this.”

“I’m t-trying,” she manages, “s’cold.” She’s losing the strength to keep her head up but suddenly Lexa’s is right there as she presses her forehead against Clarke’s, and the feeling of her warm skin pushes the dizziness away, just for a moment.

“I said, stay with me.”

Clarke nods as best she can, then tries not to feel too jarred as Lexa pulls away. “What are you doing?” she asks when Lexa begins to remove her armor piece by piece.

“You need warmth,” Lexa answers simply.

“No,” Clarke protests, “you’ll be too vulnerable.”

Lexa unbuckles the belts around her waist. “Do you remember when you saved my life the other day, and told me we weren’t going to die there?” She takes off her gloves, sets them on top of the pile, and looks Clarke square in the eye. “You are _not_ going to die here, Clarke.” Now she leans back, using her armor to stay propped up, and holds out her arms. “Come here.”

“Lexa…”

“That’s an _order_.”

Clarke only hesitates for a moment before gathering all the strength she has left and dragging herself to Lexa—trying really hard to ignore the bizarre combination of hot and cold wreaking havoc on her body—and she waits for Lexa to nod once before she eases herself down against Lexa’s torso. Lexa shifts her a little until Clarke’s head is tucked into the crook of her neck, and even as she continues to shiver, she’s surprised by how warm and soft Lexa feels against her own throbbing body.

“Thank you,” she mumbles into the worn fabric of Lexa’s shirt, focusing on the steady rise and fall of her chest rather than on the pain still smoldering on her own back.

She counts three inhales and exhales before Lexa speaks. “We both have our scars, Clarke. Mine faded with time, and yours will too.”

Clarke’s not sure if she’s talking about the literal scars she’ll have on her back or the metaphorical one on her heart that spells out Finn’s name, but she decides maybe it could be both. “Don’t let me fall asleep,” she says quietly when she feels her eyelids drooping.

“You should rest. You’re already not shivering as much.”

“Less shivering either means I’m getting better or I’m getting worse. If I fall asleep, I might not wake up.”

Two inhales and exhales. “Tell me about the Sky.”

The corner of Clarke’s mouth twitches. “I would prefer not to.”

“Why?”

“I prefer the ground.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I SWEAR TO GOD this fic is like 99% medically accurate. Mayoclinic.org, yo.


End file.
